How Nice for the Grandkids

He was raised with the notion
that in order to have a book
published, one had to climb
the literary equivalent of Mt.

Everest and, with oxygen
in hand, hike through the icy
and treacherous terrain of
established editors and pub-

lishers, the giants of literature
and then he discovered some-
thing of which was not, for
a long-time, spoken or written

— that there have been and are
ways to express oneself without
having to brave the publishing
cabal. Whitman scrounged up

enough to have his Leaves unfurl
before the world. Ezra did the
same instead of pounding away
at the locked doors and soon,

the publishers were knocking on
his door. And then there were
poets who saw the dead-end street
blocking their way to the publish-

ing highway and started little
bitty presses of publication for
them and their friends and now
everyone is catching on and self-

publishing to the tune of seventy-
five percent of all books. So,
my friend, significant writer,
someone who has something to

say and say it beautifully, as in
the words of the Nike commercial —
Just Do It and then let the pro-
verbial chips of literary criticism

fall all the while your work does
rise. And even as a friend says,
“Gee, how nice for the grandkids,”
your baby appears on the shelf of

the local bookstore eager to grow
up and have children of her own.

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